


occidit vel occisus est

by epsiloneridani



Category: Halo (Video Games) & Related Fandoms, Red vs. Blue
Genre: Brutes, Gen, Jiralhanae, the Brutes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-06-26 15:01:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15665586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epsiloneridani/pseuds/epsiloneridani
Summary: Kill or be killed. It's been his rule for most of his life. But it's trapped, it's unarmed, and the DMR is heavy in his hands. There was a time when he would have executed it without a second thought. There was a time – a lifetime ago.The crew encounters a Brute. Wash has a choice.tumblr prompt response.





	occidit vel occisus est

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: canon-typical language and violence

Kill or be killed.

When he was going feet-first into hell, it wasn’t a suggestion: it was a rule. But he’s already on the ground and for all the crap he gives this place, it’s definitely not hell. Even if there is a crater in a far corner of the canyon. Even if he had to sprint to keep up with Caboose when he ran off to see what it was.

“Agent Washington!” Caboose calls, all but vibrating with his excitement as the others come to a stop beside and behind him. He’s ecstatic. Of course he’s ecstatic. This is something new, something different, something covered in fur and tanned hide – all things that say to Caboose _fluffy friendly friend_ even when the reality is anything but. Washington tightens his grip on his DMR. The safety he installed for the benefit of the Reds and Blues is clicked on almost constantly lately, but not now. Not now.

“Caboose,” Wash says, even and measured in a way that makes Tucker tense behind him. Carolina’s silent to his right, equally stiff. “Why don’t you let me and Carolina—”

“He is my friend, Agent Washington,” Caboose proclaims solemnly and though he’s wearing a helmet Wash can just _see_ those big brown eyes widening to plead. “We must give him a name. I do not think that he can talk.”

The Brute grunts incoherently. It – he? – is trapped beneath the wreckage of his escape pod. He’s not mobile enough to hurt anyone – for the moment. Wash scans the scene with his HUD anyway and knows without having to ask that Carolina’s doing the same. No bombs. No weapons. Unarmed.

“Look,” Tucker cuts in. Maybe he knows what he’s looking at from traveling around with Junior – maybe he just has a gut hunch. Whatever the case, Wash is grateful. “Why don’t we go back to the base and let Wash…uh…talk to your new friend?”

Caboose’s helmet bobs rapidly. “Yes! And then when he is _also_ friends, we will—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Simmons cuts in, tense or nervous. His magnum’s clutched in a death grip. “Just _go_ , Caboose.”

Tucker and Caboose disappear back toward the base. Wash waits until their voices have faded to turn and face the others. “Head back,” he says. “I’ll deal with this.”

Carolina’s hand brushes his shoulderplate, an old reassurance and a silent question. _Are you sure about this?_ He gives her a nod. The DMR is heavy in his hands.

Most of the Reds give him no complaint or contest as Carolina leads them back over the hill’s crest. It’s only Sarge that remains, shotgun in hand, shoulders set back; every line of his posture radiates hostility. “You do what you need to do, Agent Washington,” he growls, tracking his gaze to the Brute and then back to Wash. “Whatever it takes.”

 _To keep them safe_.

He doesn’t say it, Sarge’d never say it, but Wash has learned to read between the lines. “Head back to the base, Sarge,” Wash says, clipped. “Like I said. I’ll deal with this.”

A moment later, he’s alone.

Wash turns to their new arrival, dropping to a crouch a few safe feet away. “If I set you free, you’ll attack us,” Wash says, and it’s a statement but maybe there’s a shadow of a question. The Brute’s eyes burn, embers of blazing hatred and it – he – struggles, writhing beneath the wreckage like the same effort will have a different effect.

“ _Human_ ,” it sneers. “When I am free, your death will not be quick.”

Wash grits his teeth. The safety’s already off. “I was really hoping you wouldn’t say that.”

It laughs at that, a gurgling growl that rattles out of its chest. “It doesn’t matter,” it heaves. The grin is crooked, vicious and violent – murder and malevolence.

Kill or be killed.

Wash rises to his feet. There was a time when he would have executed it without a second thought. There was a time –a lifetime ago.

Kill or be killed.

In the farthest corner of the canyon, a single shot rings out: a brutal halo beneath the burning sunlight.

\--


End file.
